


The Tell of a Truth

by bitwicre



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Character Study, Could Be Canon, M/M, One Shot, Soft Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, The King’s Men (All for the Game), alternate POV, andrew’s pov, neil’s scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 17:32:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15756471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitwicre/pseuds/bitwicre
Summary: One shot of the scene where Neil shows Andrew his scars in The King’s Men from Andrew’s POV. Just a quick character study of Andrews character and how he sees Neil.





	The Tell of a Truth

The first thought he had was that Neil had been right to keep this a secret. He should’ve known better by now, than to think that Neil was like anyone else, anyone normal. But a small part of him had assumed that, as was so often the case, people were stupid in their inconsequential shame. But the map of injuries on Neil was anything but trivial. 

His second thought was that Neil had been shot. He was not one for stating the obvious, but something about the event, forever marked on his skin, demanded to be said out loud. 

“Someone shot you.”

Neil didnt skip a beat in his response. “I told you someone was after me.” 

Andrew understood his “I’m fine”s a little better now. Neil was stubborn as the day was long, but he also had a different scale to his life. Pain must be different to someone with so much hurt. He probably didnt even think of the pain except as an obstacle to running. Or playing stickball. 

Someone had been trying to kill him, Andrew knew somewhere instinctive in his bones, with each of these marks. Even if he had never told him, one look at the carved up landscape of his body was all anyone would need to size him up as a threat. No wonder he hid them, they werent only private and personal, they telegraphed everything that was different about him. They were a kind of truth tattooed onto his very body. 

So many healed marks, most likely meant to be lethal; and he was still alive. How could that compare to sore arms, a jammed shoulder, a sprained wrist. A bruise that would disappear.

The fresh cuts told a different story. 

Riko had not been trying to kill him. He had enjoyed cutting like he was decorating a cake with icing. That much was obvious. And to someone who had survived a bullet, likely aimed at his skull, his heart, this pain, these fresh injuries must be a reminder that he was alive. And thats all he had ever concerned himself with. Fine meant alive, it was all that mattered to him. All that had mattered to him. 

For one timeless moment Andrew was jealous. 

Neil was marked in such permanent ways. There were rips in his skin and gouges. Slices upon slices of rivets. Some layered on atop the other. The worst of it made it seem like someone had smeared putty with their hands all along his left torso. He wondered idly how one even got a scar like that. His horrid injuries bore equally horrid evidence and proof. 

In the next moment Andrew was suspicious. There was another reason for this secret, Neil was practical and there was a reason other than self-consciousness to keep this brutal tapestry hidden. And as it was an answer to their game, it had to reveal something. Andrew had known someone was after him. But there was more that just that here. 

It took him a moment to spot the real truth he had wanted. And then another to appreciate it. He traced fingers over the burn of an iron. It was stretched and twisted from age. Neil’s scarred skin was hot against his fingertips. The imprint was so clear against his fingers. 

“This is not from a life on the run.”

Neil was such a good liar. He had no tell as he spoke easily. That was the trick, Andrew had learned from the beginning. Everyone else looked to tell when he was lying but Andrew knew this was their mistake. With Neil, the truth was what made him squirm. Neil had tells only when he was being completely honest. Everything else was always in the shade of a lie. 

"My father gave me that. People came by asking questions about his work. I didn't say anything, but I didn't sit still enough, either. He hit me as soon as the door closed behind them. That's why I gave you 'Abram'.” His voice got lower and he stilled in the way he had when he was tensing, when he would identify every exit in the room with a glance as if it were easy as breathing. 

“I don't want to give you my father's name,” he couldnt quite make the word ‘father’ sound right. “I don't want anyone to call me it ever again. I hated him." 

He was lying. 

Andrew knew it was probably mostly true. He hadnt said it so flawlessly that there was probably any technical lie in it. But it was too eloquent to be a truth like he knew ‘Abram’ was. 

Andrew still could not tell how much effort his promise would cost him. Not that it mattered. He would pay any cost, because he had said he would. But when he had struck his deal he expected that he would have a better sense of the stakes. He still had no clue. 

It didnt matter. Renee had offered to take him. He thought it was maybe his words about knives in the lounge, when Natalie had made a surprise appearance, that had prompted her to ask. But no, that wasnt her style, it was probably his hesitancy that had charmed her. She was hopeless in her faith. Not the one she carried around her throat but the one she had in people, of the two he found that one the most idiotic. 

He kept so still. 

Andrew needed to end this. There was a part of him, the part that sometimes buzzed electric over his skin at times when Andrew would rather it stay still. This impulse wanted him to touch every scar he could see. So he settled for moving his hand to one of the most pronounced ones. 

"Renee said you refused our knives.” He dared him to meet his eyes. And Neils eyes made quick contact but he wasnt really looking so Andrew returned his stare to the scars. “A murder magnet like you shouldn't walk around unarmed." 

He might wonder why if it wasnt so clear that survival was a skill Neil had acquired with traumatic practice and not a true desire he felt. 

"I'm not," Neil said, sounding like he wanted to provoke him. "I thought you were going to watch my back this year?"

He sounded ready to look at him and so Andrew tried again and instantly regretted it. 

Even after weeks of doing this dance with him, Andrew forgot just how much Neil could both give and take with just his eyes. He had seen the blue in them, but every time it was even more alive and electric. He wished he could look at them and not have him look back somehow. 

“You're not actually a sociopath, are you?" He said it like a statement, not a real question. So Andrew answered in kind. 

"I never said I was." 

"You let them say it about you," Neil said. "You could have corrected them." 

If Andrew had still been on his medication he would have grinned at everything that statement implied with sick irony. As it was he did nothing but dismiss the thought. 

“What people want to think of me is not my problem.” His problem was laid out bare in front of him. 

"Does Coach know?" Boring. Why did he put up with someone who could be so stupid. 

“Of course he does." 

"Then your medicine...?" Neil asked. "Were those pills really anti-psychotics?" 

He knew what kinds of questions came next. Sneaky. Clever but not smart. Maybe that was how he could understand so much and yet still be so idiotic. But Andrew was not playing another round today. 

"You ask a lot of questions.” The admonition was clear and Neil, mercifully shut up. He gave the scar one last breeze of a touch and then removed his hand. Neil crossed his arms, low in front of his chest, trying to hide. Andrew stepped back and gave him one last look. He had perfect recall, but more often than not he tried not to pay attention to details. The less detail he noticed, the less strong the memory would be. 

But he did want to remember this. He already knew Neil’s face. But this discomforted uncertainty his face showed was new. So he catalogued it along with every scar all the was down to a deep gouged out curl he could only catch the end of, but which disappeared beyond the waistband of his pants. 

Neil looked like he might say something more, so Andrew turned and left.


End file.
